


let me clear my throat, let me catch my breath

by timeladyleo



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Fandot Secret Santa, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeladyleo/pseuds/timeladyleo
Summary: Post Johannesburg. Arthur and Martin both have feelings that they've hidden from one another, and it just took a trip through the desert for them to see it.For Bryn, for the 2018 secret santa.





	let me clear my throat, let me catch my breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YellowBananaOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowBananaOwl/gifts).



> Skipthur obviously isn't my usual foray, so I hope it suffices!

For some reason mixed up in an Arthur-style mystery, he told the others he would catch them up at the hotel. In no mood to argue, Carolyn shooed her pilots into a taxi and told Arthur to text her when he was on his way. It was a quiet journey, none of them really having anything to say to each other. Martin was feeling pretty miserable; they’d ended up not having to pay Carolyn, but somehow she’d wiggled out of giving them anything, making up some reasoning about the fact that her money would go straight on paying for the BMW, therefore it would be just like her spending it directly. 

The airport manager had been nice enough to let them leave just before dusk, but they had had to shell out for repairs to the car. Which had been far more than Martin would have wanted to spend. It was all his fault too! He was trying not to let the guilt and the stupidity get to him, but _why didn’t I just do a normal walk around? Why didn’t I just look up?_ kept going round and round his head. 

Carolyn was bickering with the receptionist. It was one of her favourite hobbies, after all, and Martin had become very adept at tuning it out. He remembered when he had first come to MJN and every interaction he’d either had with Carolyn or witnessed her having had been terrifying. Now, it was just a usual part of the hotel experience. The wallpaper in this reception was peeling at the top, brown stripes on a browner background. Martin let his eyes trail down one of the stripes, trying not to notice too hard how the strips were stuck to the wall at strange angles, or how the whole skirting board was held on by various degrees of rot. And everything was brown. Who had designed this place?

“Martin, you share with Arthur.” A keycard was waved in his face, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Wait, what? Carolyn, no! You know what he’s like to share with!”

“Of course I do, I live with him. And that’s why you’re sharing.” Martin groaned but didn’t argue further. He knew better than to ask why Douglas couldn’t have him. Perhaps this was unfair on Arthur, but the last thing Martin really wanted to deal with right now was an over-excited child of a man. He just wanted to sleep. 

And for a while, the room was silent. He threw his bag on the floor, changed into comfortable clothes, and lay down to read. He only managed three pages before his mind wandered back off. Where was Arthur? What could he be doing that meant he was taking so long? Martin’s eyes drifted to the window, watching the condensation that appeared to be a permanent feature run down the edge of the glass. Not even double glazed. What a waste of energy. Maybe a shower would help, reorder his thoughts. Nice and warm, that was what he needed, though not what he was expecting. They were lucky if these sort of places had even warm water. He nodded as he put the bookmark in. A brilliant idea, really. It would stop him thinking about Arthur. As he stood, he tried to ignore the fact that he’d just thought the word brilliant, and that that had set him off thinking about Arthur all over again. 

The temperature ended up being okay, but the pressure had been too much, and the shower curtain had been too short for the bathtub and water had seeped into every crack in the floor. Martin concentrated so hard on not slipping when he got out that he cracked his head on the towel rail. Whoever had thought putting a rail so high needed punching. And why were the towels brown too? Nobody sane used brown towels! Then he looked at the sink and cursed himself. He’d left his toiletries bag in the room. Not to worry, he hadn’t heard the door go.

And that was how Martin ended up naked but for the towel around his waist, standing in the middle of a dingy hotel room with an Arthur Shappey trying to speak to him. 

“Skipper!” Martin could feel the embarrassment spread down his neck. Arthur was in between him and his bag, of course. This couldn’t get worse. “I’ve got you a present!” 

“Arthur, do you mind if I just get my bag? And get dressed before we do this?” The words sounded harsher than he’d meant, and Arthur deflated away onto the bed. Guilt struck Martin, sitting on top of the embarrassment in his chest and leaving him with a horrible, achy pain. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he snatched up his whole bag and retreated into the bathroom, shutting the door fast. 

It shouldn’t be so hard to say no to Arthur. He was an adult, after all, surely he could cope with the fact that Martin wanted to be fully clothed before engaging in a conversation. It was excruciating to try and talk to someone without a shirt on. He’d learned that one long ago, after one too many pranks had left him nearly naked and afraid. 

The first thing he did was put his pyjamas back on. Not that he didn’t trust Arthur not to come in – he shook his head. He only ever used that many negatives in his head when he was panicking. What was there to panic about? It was only Arthur. He’d spent the night sharing a room with him many times, what was the big deal? Arthur was always respectful of early bedtimes and letting Martin shower first, and he’d never accidentally gone into the bathroom while Martin was there. And they’d had some nice talks too, when the lights were off, deeper than Martin had ever assumed Arthur’s thoughts went. Which was unfair, really. Everyone just assumed Arthur was stupid. That couldn’t be further from the truth.   
He took a few breaths before he opened the door, despite feeling a lot calmer. Arthur was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “Anything interesting up there?” Martin asked, sitting on his own bed. 

“Kinda. You see, there’s a dragon chasing a spider, a massive tarantula, and they’re arguing because the both want the pile of treasure that the frog is sat on, and the frog told them that they have to either beat each other or make an agreement to split it, which the dragon wants because he’s secretly in love with the spider, but the spider’s greedy so he wants to beat dragon and steal it all so he’s trying to crawl under the dragon’s wings and- yeah.” He cut himself off so abruptly that Martin blinked in surprise. Another stab of guilt shot through Martin as he realised that that was usually the point where Arthur would be told to shut up. While he was trying to think of something to say, Arthur sat bolt upright and swung his legs off the bed. 

Martin watched as he got up and rummaged around in his bag, a small backpack crammed with his clothes and other assorted things Martin didn’t dare ask about. It was obvious when he found what he wanted, his eyes lit up above his smile. “Skip, you’ve got to close your eyes. I didn’t have time to wrap it.” 

With less hesitation than he expected, Martin shut his eyes and held out his hand. “Okay, I’ve done it. Please don’t tell me Douglas has taught you about pranks.” He cringed at the idea of Douglas and Arthur poring over one of those boys books of brilliant jokes. 

“Nope, this is a good surprise! Promise! Are you sure your eyes are shut?”

“Last time I checked.” 

“Okay, here you go!” Arthur slammed something into his hand, releasing it to him with a _ta-da!_ Martin closed his fingers around it a split-second before opening his eyes, trying to figure out what it was. But he was too impatient to guess properly, and when he looked down he saw a pair of sunglasses in that hideous old lady tortoiseshell. 

He opened his mouth to speak, then told himself off. How could he say something mean after Arthur had clearly put a lot of effort into getting these? Even if he’d never wear them? Seeing his hesitation, Arthur said, softly “Do you like them? I know they’re not exactly the same, and they’re not as nice or probably as expensive as the other ones, but I just thought…”

As Arthur was explaining his reasoning to the most precise detail, Martin found that his thoughts were full of gratitude, and sweet, soft feelings towards this idiot man who was and always had been so kind to him. He found his face flushing again as his heart started racing. What was he, a teenager in love? That thought struck his hard between the ribs. Love? Could that be why he couldn’t quite get Arthur off his mind, because of a ridiculous crush? It all sounded so childish. But Martin, now having thought it, kept replaying all the conversations of recent weeks and the more he did, the more he realised that he did genuinely like Arthur, that Arthur was always the first to listen to him and jump to his defence. 

“Arthur,” Martin interrupted just as Arthur was getting ready to give the shopkeeper in the story some ridiculous voice. His face dropped. 

“You don’t like them, do you Skip?” 

“No, I do. It was nice of you to get them for me.” He scratched the back of his neck, taking a deep breath. “Arthur, can I ask you something?” 

“Of course you can, Skip. Ask me anything. Especially about camels. Today I think I know a lot about them.” 

Martin smiled, realising that watching Arthur’s face light up like that made his heart flutter. “Well, I’ve been doing some thinking, and I think – well, obviously I _think_ but specifically what I was thinking this time was about you, and-”

“About me?” The seeming innocence of the question threw Martin off guard. 

“Look, Arthur, I think – well, I think that I might quite like it if we stop talking and you come over here and kiss me.” 

For the first time Martin could ever remember, Arthur was speechless, a faint blush crawling over his cheekbones, his mouth dropping open in classic cartoon fashion. He recovered after a moment, feigning nonchalance – a move he’d learned from Douglas with varying successes. “I must say, I have in fact been thinking that myself.” He ended with a nod as if he had been expecting this charade and was taking it with complete confidence. Now, it was Martin’s turn for surprise. 

He handled it less well, stammering “You have?”

“Course I have. You’re attractive, Skipper, and I have a very good eye.” 

“But I thought you only dated pony club girls?” 

“Yeah, but I date all sorts of boys.” Martin closed his eyes in shock, trying to process what in hell was happening. 

“Carolyn knows about it?” He winced at himself. As if Carolyn wouldn’t know and would care. 

“Course she does. She actually prefers it when I bring home boys, she says she finds girls too annoying.” 

“And- you’re saying you want to take me home?”

“Not at all.” Martin felt his heart stop. “I want to take you right here.” Arthur’s face split into a huge grin and Martin realised he’d stopped breathing. 

Before he could think about what he was saying, he heard himself say “Why don’t you then?” They locked eyes, having an inaudible conversation where Arthur asked _you sure?_ and Martin nodded _yes_ , feeling everything inside him jumping in delight and shock and some other things he didn’t have the words for. 

He had no further use for words anyway, as Arthur stood up and walked over, and more smoothly than Martin had ever seen Arthur do anything, swept Martin into his arms and kissed him. It was a short kiss, but with more feeling than Martin had ever felt. When Arthur pulled away, he whispered “Have lunch with me tomorrow, please?” 

Martin nodded again. “I’d like that.” 

“Brilliant!” He kissed Martin again. “You know, Skip, I was right. This is fun.” 

Too many words were clamouring inside Martin’s skull, trying to get out, trying to agree and tell Arthur that it was wonderful, and brilliant, and that he had wanted this for longer than he wanted to admit, and that he didn’t want to stop, oh, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…

“I won’t, Skip. I won’t.”


End file.
